Dead Weight
by mjp03
Summary: He alone knows the dead weight of a useless, lifeless body. It is lethal. Oneshot. Yukimura-centric.


Title: Dead weight

Summary: He alone know the dead weight of a lifeless body. It is lethal. Oneshot. Yukimura-centric.

A/N: Yukimura's thoughts and feelings as he laid lifelessly on the hospital bed, unable to touch his beloved tennis. A lot of angst. Dedicated to Sugar and Yukimura.

* * *

 _Dead Weight_

* * *

His name is Yukimura Seiichi.

He alone knows the dead weight of a useless, non-animating body. It is very heavy.

He collapses. It, surprisingly, comes not much of a surprise. Perhaps he had been expecting something of this sort. He expected himself to heal quickly.

So it was a bit of a shock when his doctor told him he wouldn't.

* * *

Sometimes he would stare at his legs, willingly them to move, to take him once again swiftly across the tennis courts. They do not respond, obviously. And he grew frustrated. He would occasionally hurl his pillow and blankets across the room in a rage at himself, barely missing the poor patrol nurse. Then, after a few minutes of calming down, he would ask the terrified nurse politely to return them to his bed, for try hard as he might, his legs could - would - not carry him as far as the opposite of the room.

When the nurse offers him a wheelchair, he would stare at the wheelchair, and wonder if there were an ounce of pride left in his useless body anymore.

His name was Yukimura Seiichi. He does not know what his name is now. The name Yukimura suits a more powerful and strong and proud figure; it is not him.

* * *

Sanada brings him videos of the team's practice. He watched them, and found himself wanting to smash the laptop on which the videos were playing on. He does not, though, and politely returns the videos to Sanada.

His little sister brings his tennis racket and placed it beside his bed. To give him motivation for therapy and rehabilitation, she says. He does not touch or hold his racket, fearing that it may be his last time doing so when he does. He does not think he could bear it if it were the case.

Tennis...is everything. He lived for it. He would die for it. He refused to die for something as trivial as a ridiculous illness. If he were to die, he would die holding a racket, on the courts. He would die playing a strong opponent. Just thinking of the sheer possibility of drawing his last breath on this hard bed within these cold walls chilled his insides.

Nothing in the world could compare to whatever he felt for tennis. 'Love' is too mild a word. He does not believe that there would ever be a a word invented in the future that could accurately describe his feelings.

When he played tennis, he felt alive and alive. When he lay in the hospital, he feels dead, although his doctors assure him over and over again that he is alive and they will do their best to keep him that way.

Is there a point in staying alive when he became the equivalent of an invalid?

* * *

His teammates visits him. They would tell him to get better. They would tease him. They would ask him to never give up. And they would leave, leaving him feeling worse than he did before.

He is the _captain_ of their team. The captain is the support of the team. He is supposed to lead his team, support his team. Why is he accepting support from his teammates instead? What is he doing, lying pathetically on a bed, doing nothing, when his friends were practicing intensely for the Kanto Tournament? What is he doing, when the tennis courts were calling out for him to return?

He musters enough courage to hold his beloved racket. His hands were trembling as he weighed it on his hands. His fingers, immobile for a long time, shook as they tried to balance the heavy racket on one hand. The racket drops lifelessly onto the floor. And he would stare at it until someone came along, and he would ask them politely to help him pick it up. His tears would well up uncontrollably, but would not spill. At least he had that much pride left.

He is not of any religion, but one day, he decides to pray to God. He has heard that God is almighty, and would help anyone in need. He is desperate enough to try anything. He would chop his hand off as a sacrifice if he could, but things as they are right now, he can't even handle his chopsticks properly.

He is impatient, and stops his prayers a week later when he does not see immediate results.

He is desperate enough to do anything. He would burn his face off. He would cut his brain in half. He would give up everything, including his family and friends. He would even give up his life, if he were offered a chance to play tennis in hell.

* * *

And he watches every day, on his laptop, live videos of his team's matches. A monster tears his heart apart as he stares longingly at the courts, but he keeps watching. It is his responsibility.

Then he realizes, he is the last person on earth who has the right to talk about liability, having deserted his team at the most critical moment. He suppresses his urge to throw the laptop against the wall, and watch it shatter into a million pieces. He sees all the matches through, biting on his lip.

The weight of guilt and anger and frustration crushes him again.

* * *

Midnight, he wakes up to go to the toilet to relieve himself. He finds no one around to help him. Gingerly, he steps unwillingly into his wheelchair, feeling the last drop of whatever is left of his pride evaporate.

When he enters his cubicle, he realizes he will have to support himself for a little while. Groaning slightly, he heaves himself up. He feels himself wobbling unsteadily and nearly topples over. It is the first time he thinks that his body is becoming too heavy for him.

One day, he thinks idly that perhaps he should end his life. There is no reason left for him to stay. But he isn't even capable of holding himself up properly now, let alone kill himself.

Then, his doctor comes in and tells him that he can take a surgery. It is so surprising it doesn't surprise him. He does not even go over the papers before he signs the consent form.

* * *

He stands once again on the courts. He will never take this for granted ever again, the feeling of his body's weight proportional to his strength. He will never forget the time he had to lead against the toilet cubicle to hold himself upright.

And he will never forget how the dead weight of a lifeless body feels on a pair of lifeless legs.

* * *

A/N: Short note here. The title 'Dead Weight' doesn't only mean the literal weight of Yukimura's body, although that does take up a huge part of it. I was also referring to the weight of the responsibility that Yukimura has neglected in his absence. I made several hints here and there, but it didn't seem very apparent... I really wanted to include this though.

End.


End file.
